Share this post

Link to post

Share on other sites

Interests:My prime of youth is but frost of cares,<br>my feast is a joy is but dish of paine:<br>My Crop of corne is but a field of tares,<br>and all of my good is but vaine hope of gaine.<br>The day is past, and yet I saw no sunne,<br>And now I liue, and now my life is done.<br><br>My tale was heard, and yet it was not told,<br>my fruite is falne, & yet my leaues are greene:<br>My youth is spent, and yet I am not old,<br>I saw the world, and yet I was not senne.<br>My thread is cut, and yet it is not spunne,<br>And now I liue, and now my life is done.<br><br>I sought my death, and I found it in my wombe,<br>I lookt for life, and saw it was a shade:<br>I trod the earth, and knew it was my Tombe,<br>and now I die, and now I was but made.<br>My glasse is full, and now my glasse is runne,<br>And now I liue, and now my life is done.<br><br>Chidiock Tichborne (1558-1586)<br>Written with his owne hand in the Tower before his execution.

Share this post

Link to post

Share on other sites

Interests:My prime of youth is but frost of cares,<br>my feast is a joy is but dish of paine:<br>My Crop of corne is but a field of tares,<br>and all of my good is but vaine hope of gaine.<br>The day is past, and yet I saw no sunne,<br>And now I liue, and now my life is done.<br><br>My tale was heard, and yet it was not told,<br>my fruite is falne, & yet my leaues are greene:<br>My youth is spent, and yet I am not old,<br>I saw the world, and yet I was not senne.<br>My thread is cut, and yet it is not spunne,<br>And now I liue, and now my life is done.<br><br>I sought my death, and I found it in my wombe,<br>I lookt for life, and saw it was a shade:<br>I trod the earth, and knew it was my Tombe,<br>and now I die, and now I was but made.<br>My glasse is full, and now my glasse is runne,<br>And now I liue, and now my life is done.<br><br>Chidiock Tichborne (1558-1586)<br>Written with his owne hand in the Tower before his execution.